


The Second Prince of Asgard

by RandomFandomLand



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Eventual Romance, F/M, Injured Loki, Magic, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Serious Injuries, young(er) loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomFandomLand/pseuds/RandomFandomLand
Summary: After being injured on a "routine" scouting trip with his brother and the Warriors Three, Loki meets one of the healers of Asgard and is immediately intrigued...





	1. Chapter 1

### The Healer & The Prince

“Just try to stay still, sire,” a voice said, somewhere off to his left. He turned his head just slightly toward the sound.

“Is he waking up?” another voice said. Loki belatedly recognized it as that of his brother. Then he realized that the last thing he remembered was leaving Asgard with the Warriors Three and Thor to “check in” on one of their father’s realms—as Thor has put it.

As his memory returned, Loki found that he’d put a spell on his body to block physical feelings. It was an uncommon spell, and one that took quite a bit of energy, so he, and the few others who could cast it, rarely used it. He began to release the spell, figuring that whatever was wrong, continuing to devour his own magic would surely only worsen it. As his magic faded, the sensation returned to his body in waves of nauseating pain. Loki instinctively tried to throw the magic back up to stop the pain, but someone else’s power was entering his veins, and he only managed to dull the worst of the pain. He felt his heart start to race—he was injured and weak in some unknown place. He only took solace in the fact that he knew his brother was somewhere nearby.

“Please don’t do that, sire,” that first voice said spoke again. Loki, repressing his panic, found the voice to be familiar but—at the moment—unplaceable.

She continued, “Your magic is interfering with ours. We won’t be able to heal you until you lower your defense.”

Loki, concluding with relief that he must be in Asgard’s healing chambers, opened his eyes just a touch then closed them immediately as even the dull light filling the chamber caused a shooting pain to pass through his head, adding to his existing aches. He tried again, willing himself not to vomit as the bright light burned across his vision.

The healer speaking to him was a young woman—Loki had seen her around, bit did not recall a name just now. Thor hovered off his right shoulder looking fretful. The woman spoke again, placing cool fingers against his jaw to turn his head toward her. She asked if he’d understood him—if he could drop the rest of his protective magic.

Loki nodded and released the last vestiges of power, allowing his injuries to make themselves fully known. His breath came in short rasps; probably a collapsed lung. There were at least a couple of broken ribs and his head throbbed terribly; though at this point Loki didn’t know whether to attribute that to the light, his overuse of magic, or some yet-unknown head injury. Glancing down, Loki saw an unfortunately large shard of metal jutting out of his left thigh. He looked away, not trusting his composure. He could now feel the steady flow of blood from his leg, and he imagined he could hear the sound of it dripping from the table to the stone floor below. He closed his eyes, feeling faint. The woman said something to him…he wasn’t quite sure what. Making contact with her deep brown eyes, he saw that she was looking for an answer. Well she certainly wasn’t going to get one from him now. He blissfully slipped back into oblivion under the onslaught of another wave of pain.

—

“Sire,” Ingrid said, willing the ailing prince to reopen his eyes. “We’re going to mend your leg now, but it will hurt. Are you prepared?”

He looked at her, his famed green eyes now dull with pain and fatigue. He closed them again as he lost consciousness. That certainly made the next bit easier, Ingrid thought as she waved forward her fellow healers. Carefully, they pulled free the shrapnel from the prince’s leg and concentrated their magic on his wound, stemming the gush of blood. The floor beneath their feet was already painted with it, and even an Asgardian as strong as the prince could only loose so much blood before the damage was irreparable.

—

Finally back in her chambers, Ingrid scrubbed blood from her hands and tried not to replay the day’s events yet again. It had started off quite nicely, to be honest, with Runa—the master of the healing chambers—pronouncing Ingrid proficient in the healing arts and promoting her from apprentice status to junior healer. A rank that essentially marked her as qualified to work independently and run her own team of apprentices. Runa then rewarded Ingrid by placing the chambers under her command for the day. The gesture was meant to be ceremonial, as they were in a time of peace, and it was unlikely that Runa should ever find herself too far from the healing chambers. Even when she was away, Ingrid knew that her master lived just across town should anything truly disastrous occur.

So Ingrid had been feeling light-hearted—nearly giddy—for the entirety of the morning, checking on her returning patients and giving a few consultations to soldiers overworking themselves in their trainings. She’d even patched up the scraped knee of the son of one of the local artisans; the grateful father had given her a small crystal amulet in thanks (though, of course, she’d tried to refuse it on principal).

Then Prince Thor came in shouting, carrying his brother’s limp form over one shoulder and with his warriors following closely behind—all four covered in the grime of battle and looking worried. Ingrid allowed herself a moment to think through a slew of her choicest swears before leaping into action. They’d placed the younger prince on an empty dais near the center of the room. Ingrid and her assistants barely had to glance at his beaten body before Ingrid shouted the order to summon Master Runa; in the meanwhile, Ingrid assigned a healer to check over the other warriors while the rest of them assessed Prince Loki’s condition. They managed, with Ingrid’s guidance, to push enough magic into him to wake him up and tell him to lower his spells. Then he nearly bled out right in front of them as his brother shouted incoherently. But, despite the distraction, they managed to stop the bleeding, and there’d been no sign of infection or poison. They’d set his bones and healed his internal chest injuries easily enough, and Ingrid had been right in the middle of healing a minor bleed under his skull when Master Runa walked in to take over. Once the prince was out of mortal danger, Ingrid was dismissed, her master’s expression just barely conveying a glimmer of gratitude. Ingrid tried to hold onto that expression—a rare find on Runa’s face—as she collapsed into bed that night.

—

When Loki awoke, he found—much to his relief—that the crippling pain he’d felt before had receded. His leg still throbbed dully, and it was somewhat difficult to breathe without his half-healed ribs screaming in protest, but if he laid very still, the pain was nearly imperceptible. The entire right side of his chest was filled with a curious sensation—something akin to constant, uncomfortable pressure—as the healers’ magic mended his internal injuries. He opened his eyes—slowly this time—and saw that he was alone except for the healer from before. Looking at her profile as she fiddled about over a table of vials and herbs, Loki realized that her familiarity came from his time spent in the palace’s library. He’d seen her there a number of times, pouring over dusty old volumes which he could only assume described the healing arts. She never even looked up when he came in—a bit of an oddity for someone employed by the royal household, but Loki had found that he didn’t actually mind her apathy.

 _Ingrid_! The name came to him suddenly. The palace’s master healer had come to find Ingrid in the library not too long ago. She’d berated her apprentice for wasting time in the library rather than the practice halls. At the time, Loki had been sitting behind a rather tall stack of books, so neither healer realized whose company they were in.

Now, Ingrid straightened and turned suddenly, as if she’d felt Loki’s eyes on her. She strode over to him, testing his temperature with the back of her hand. Her skin felt graciously cool against his own.

“Hmm, you’re a little feverish,” she muttered before asking how he felt.

He took a breath to respond, but that only caused the pain in his chest to worsen.

Noticing his discomfort, the healer laid a hand over his chest. Loki watched with mild interest as her magic spiraled out from her fingertips in swirling charcoal tendrils. As the magic dissipated, Loki felt a noticeable decrease in the pain emanating from his various injuries.

“Is that better?”

Loki nodded and thanked her, being sure to use her name. He felt a slight satisfaction as she started in surprise then drifted back into a calm slumber.

—

Ingrid sat perched by the window of the palace library. A large leather-bound tome rested heavily across her knees, but she’d not been paying attention to his for some time now. Instead, her attention was drawn to the sunlit courtyard below where the princes sparred in a whirl of green and red. Prince Thor swung his hammer in wide, controlled arcs while Prince Loki danced around him, striking out with two wickedly sharp daggers. They were both careful, she noted, to pull their blows so no injury came to the other. Ingrid found herself rooting for Prince Loki, cheering internally as he parried Prince Thor’s blows with practiced precision. She figured her irrational preference was because he’d acknowledged her by name; she remembered that while she was most certainly surprised at the time, she was not altogether displeased. She had always found him a most handsome man—not so burly and bulky as many of Asgard’s other warriors. Of course, she chided herself, he was far out of her league, so the point was moot. No prince was going to show favor for a junior healer.

Ingrid gasped as she watched Loki stumble against his nearly-healed leg. She knew from his exams that the muscles were mostly mended, but they could still stand another weak of gentle use. Prince Thor pulled back his swing just in time to avoid caving his brother’s chest in and reached out to steady him. Ingrid saw Prince Loki raise a hand as if to assure the other of his well-being. There was a brief exchange then older prince patted the younger’s shoulder, and they began to walk back into the palace, Prince Loki masking a slight limp. Right before they disappeared from view beneath Ingrid, they stopped. Prince Thor leaned down to say something in his brother’s ear, and they both looked up directly at Ingrid. As they made eye contact, Ingrid threw herself gracelessly from the window sill, her medical volume tumbling to the ground with a loud thud. Ingrid felt a hot blush color her cheeks as she curled against the wall, gathering up the volume in her hands.

—

“Do you know her, Loki?” Thor asked as they re-entered the palace.

“She’s a healer,” Loki said with his practiced nonchalance.

“Here? In the palace?”

“Yes. She was there when you brought me back from Vanaheim. Don’t you recall?”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Thor paused to lean against a nearby column. “She’s quite pretty.”

“I suppose.”

“And she’s interested.”

“You don’t know that,” Loki said, matching his brother’s pose against the next column in the line. “She was probably just trying to make sure I wasn’t undoing her fine work.” He patted his half-healed leg in emphasis. He really _shouldn’t_ have suggested a sparring match just yet, but he’d been feeling a bit stir-crazy sitting about all day.

Thor raised an eyebrow and started down the hall again, slowing until Loki fell in step beside him. “Well, if you ask me—”

“I didn’t.”

“She’s admiring you. Talk to her.”

“And who said _I_ was interested?”

Thor clapped his brother on the shoulder and said no more.

—

Loki stretched across the chaise lounge in his quarters, propping his injured leg up on a velvet pillow. He was trying to read a text on magic, gifted to him by his mother during his convalescence. But it soon occurred to him that he’d read the same paragraph half a dozen times without actually comprehending a single rune. He snapped the book shut and laid it on the floor beside him. His thoughts had been rudely intruded by Thor’s words about the healer—Ingrid.

Indeed she was, as Thor had put it, quite pretty. He had seen her sitting by that library window tens of times, the sunlight often hitting her brown hair just so and coloring it with highlights of copper and honey. He liked the way she aggressively pushed strands of it away from her face like they were the biggest inconvenience in her world and tucked them firmly behind petite ears. And he was fond of the way her brow furrowed progressively as she poured over comically thick tomes. Perhaps he _should_ talk to her, Loki thought, rolling up off the couch. At least he should thank her for patching him up the previous week. He walked purposefully toward the library, meaning to catch her at her favorite window seat.

—

Ingrid had relocated herself to a more secluded area of the library, willing herself to focus on the words before her instead of her deep embarrassment and inappropriate entrancement with Asgard’s younger prince. A torch beside her flicked slightly as someone stopped to hover just behind her shoulder.

Turning around, she felt her heart flutter as the very man she’d just been trying not to think about appeared beside her.

“May I join you?” he asked, gesturing to an empty seat across the table from her.

Ingrid heard herself stammer “of course.” He smiled lightly and sat down, opening up his own volume so it lay flat upon the table. As he said no more, Ingrid redirected her gaze to the healing jargon in front of her—something about imbuing runed stones with healing spells. She felt her flush return, and she blessed the fact that her beige complexion would mask the heat on her face in this half-light. She also noted, with intrigue, that his pages were turning just as slowly as her were.

—

Just say something clever, he thought, crumpling the corner of the page with his fingertips—the same page he’d been staring at since he sat down. He found himself astonished at the sudden stillness of his famed “silver tongue.” And he nearly balked as the words “what would Thor do” came unbidden to his mind. After running through a dozen starting lines, Loki cleared his throat to speak, hoping that his quick wit (which had seemingly taken the day off) would take the reins.

She glanced up at the sound.

Holding her eye contact, Loki said, “I just wanted to express my gratitude, Ingrid.”

“Oh?” she asked softly.

“For your healing…the other day,” he finished lamely, hating is ineloquence.

“My pleasure, Sire,” she said. “Well, it is my job, technically…”

Loki saw her snap her mouth shut at that, and he could only imagine that she, too, was struggling to find the right words. Or, at least that’s what he hoped, so he wasn’t alone in his ineptitude.

“Well,” he said, “in either case. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sire.”

“You may call me Loki, if you would like?”

She nodded with a smile, drawing his attention to her softly-shaped lips.

Loki stood suddenly, not trusting himself to stay any longer without embarrassment. Before he left, however, he conjured a flower—the kind his mother had always decorated her room with when he and his brother were young. The variety was Midgardian, and though he could not recall their name, he remembered their many overlapping, snowy white petals and the sweet, crisp scent which clung to them. He handed the nameless flower to Ingrid, who seemed bewildered for a moment before her face broke into a smile that filled her face, provoking an involuntary smile from Loki in return.

“Thank you,” she said, drawing the flower to her chest.

“Good evening, Ingrid.”

“Farewell, Loki.”

As he exited, he surreptitiously glanced at a window, hoping to catch her in the reflection. Doing so, he was pleased to see that she was currently burying her nose in the petals.

—

When Ingrid entered her house that night, she greeted her mother cheerfully.

“You’re in a good mood,” her mother noted. She was sitting in a rocking chair, bouncing Ingrid’s baby brother on her knees.

“Just had a nice day,” Ingrid explained. She affectionately ruffled her brother’s hair by way of greeting. The baby looked up at her with wide eyes and giggled with glee.

Ingrid stepped into her room and fished the white bloom from her bag. She found a plain, empty vase and placed the gift inside. The vase was then set on her bedside table, she gave it one last glance before heading back out to prepare dinner for her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theoretically this is meant to be the first installment of a multi-chapter fic...but I make no promises. In any case, I hope you enjoyed!


	2. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid's day is thrown awry when Loki and the others bring a mysterious prisoner into the healing chambers.

Ingrid sped down the main corridor of the palace, preparing herself for the inevitable lecture she was going to receive on the importance of timeliness. To be fair, it wasn’t her fault that she was late. Not this time at least. She’d actually been on an errand _for_ Master Runa, gathering herbs from the palace greenhouses, when she’d been distracted by a commotion just outside the doors; the two princes were dragging a prisoner across the courtyard with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three following close behind. All six Asgardians wore clear signs of a recent battle—coated in dirt and blood. Ingrid wouldn’t be surprised in the least if one or more of them showed up in her healing chambers later on. But, in any case, their less-than-subtle entrance had made it impossible for Ingrid to follow her normal route back to the healing chambers. In fact, she had to traverse half the perimeter of the palace to get the main entrance before backtracking to where the chambers were.

She nearly had her final explanation rehearsed when she reached the entrance of the healing chambers only to come up short as she found her path blocked by a solid wall of palace guards. One of the guards turned on his heel to face her and tell her with no kindness to be on her way. Ingrid quickly explained that she was a healer and gestured to the bundle of herbs which she held in the crook of her arm as proof.

A familiar voice spoke up from within the chamber, “It’s alright. Let her pass.”

The guards parted at their prince’s command, and Ingrid nodded thanks to Loki as she entered.

The room had been taken over by whatever commotion Ingrid had noticed by the greenhouses. Odin himself loomed by the main healing dais. Upon the stone lay a person in tattered Asgardian garb; heavy, runed shackles locked their limbs tightly to the dais. Guards ringed the room and curtains had been put up around the patients who had been previously admitted, transforming the once-familiar space into alien territory.

Ingrid’s fellow healers moved about, tension in their shoulders, as they saw to their own patients. Meanwhile, Runa stood beside the prisoner, her bare, brown arms extended over their chest. Even at this distance, Ingrid could see the worrisome expression on Runa’s typically stone face. Whoever the warriors had captured was likely close to death unless something was done fast. While Ingrid took everything in, Loki had come to hover by her shoulder, parting away from Thor and the other warriors who stood just behind Odin. 

Loki leaned down by Ingrid’s ear and whispered, “Can you help them?”

Ingrid looked at him, meeting those green eyes and registering the concern in them. Without answering, Ingrid approached the dais, depositing her medicines on a nearby counter. She made eye contact with Runa who nodded in greeting. Ingrid moved in as close as she could to the prisoner and raised her own hands to hover just above their chest, palms down.  

Carefully, she extended her magic, letting it envelop the injured, finding holes in their spirit reflecting their wounds, both physical and magical. Ingrid carefully concealed the gasp she felt rise in her chest as the full extent of the prisoner’s wounds became apparent. They had clearly been in the midst of a powerful explosion; there were microscopic fractures and tears to bones and muscles throughout their body—but those would heal soon enough. The true problem was the gaping holes in their sprit, draining their life force. Such injuries could only have been the result of a magic attack from a true master of arcane arts—that, or some kind of poison. Ingrid could only recall one such poison at the moment, and that one could only be reversed by a rare antidote that was unreliable at best.

Ingrid looked to her master, waiting for instructions. Herbs to grab, spells to cast, anything. But Runa stood expressionless, her arms still reaching over the prisoner, feeling the total devastation of their body.

To her left, Odin shifted with impatience and ordered, “Heal them.”

Runa lowered her arms in a quick movement. “I cannot, my king.”

“You must.” He turned and swept from the room without further ado, motioning for all but one guard to follow.

Ingrid met Loki’s worried glance once more, desperately wanting to know what had happened. She waited until the echoing clang of Odin’s staff marching down the stone corridor receded into inaudibility before turning back to Runa. “What do we do?”

“Why were you late?” She said instead.

“I—Does that really matter just now?” Ingrid motioned to the prone form between them.

“Answer the question, Ingrid.”

Wrestling back her protestation, Ingrid delivered her explanation.

Runa simply nodded and began her to walk around the chamber. She was, Ingrid realized with frustration, making her typical rounds among the other patients. Ingrid caught the eyes of her companions and saw that all were equally confused.

“Master,” Ingrid tried again, falling a step behind her, “what should we do about the prisoner?”

“Patient,” Runa corrected.

“Yes. _Exactly_.”

“Your patient.”

“My _what_?” Ingrid stopped, nearly stumbling over her own feet. Runa couldn’t possibly mean that.

“Well, you heard the king, Ingrid. Heal them.”

“I’m sorry to contradict, Master, but you said yourself we couldn’t.”

“And our king demanded otherwise. Now get to it.” She receded to her personal chamber without another word.

Looking around again, Ingrid found that no one would meet her eyes now. She returned to the head of the dais, shaking slightly in shock and confusion. She turned toward the guard just over her shoulder and asked what had happened, but he did not know. On the verge of panic, Ingrid placed her hands on either side of the patient’s head, hoping a second assessment might be of help. She found that they injuries seemed to resemble ancient curses that Ingrid had only ever read about in very old tomes that usually sat gathering dust on high shelves in the palace’s library. There were ways to reverse such magic…but if her diagnosis was wrong, trying those cures would be disastrous for both the healer and the patient.

Then, quietly, in the back of her mind, she heard a voice, unintelligible but familiar. She felt another’s magic pressing close against her barriers. This magic does not belong to a stranger, she thought. Cautiously, she lowered her mental shields, letting the voice come through with clarity. 

“Ingrid, can you hear me?”

“Loki?” She thought. She nearly drew her defenses back up again out of instinct—though she couldn’t think who else it might have been.

“Wait, wait. Don’t block me out. And don’t react—they can’t know what I’m telling you.”

Ingrid glanced around to see if anyone had noticed a change in her demeanor—but they were tending their own patients and carefully avoiding Ingrid’s glances. “Loki, can you tell me what’s going on? What happened to this person?”

“This is a criminal,” he answered. “The warriors, my brother, and I found them ransacking a small village in one of the realms. When we tried to stop them, they released some sort of explosion… It wiped out the whole village. They’ve been unconscious ever since.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Ingrid asked. “And why are we trying so hard to save the life of some criminal?”

There was a pause and Ingrid wondered if the prince was still listening.

“My father won’t say. But I get the feeling that this criminal is known to him. Can you heal them, Ingrid?”

“I don’t know—I don’t see how I can if Master Runa cannot.”

“What do you know of their injuries? Perhaps my father can be dissuaded if he sees that there is no other option.”

“It seems that they were cursed by powerful magic…I’ve read about magic like this being used long ago. Before the realms were even conquered. I don’t remember exactly, but if what I think happened is what happened, then there might be a way to heal this. But I cannot do it alone, and my master has made it seem that no one should aid me. I don’t understand why though—what happened before I arrived?”

Ingrid felt the prince sigh, and her heart beat painfully in her anxiety.

“I fear that Odin was livid when he saw who we’d brought here. At a guess, your master doesn’t want to bear the burden of failing him. Ingrid, I’m sorry this has fallen onto your shoulders.” He paused. “Is there any way I can help?”

Ingrid paused for equal measure, “There may be something.”

“Name it.” 

— 

By the time their plan was enacted, the sun had well set and all but a few healers had returned home.

Ingrid still stood by the head of the dais. She’d used the time to heal the patient’s physical ailments, praying that she could extend their life long enough for her and Loki’s plan.

Then she felt his presence just beside her.

Using their magically forged connection, she thought, “Did you get it?”

“Yes,” he said, materializing.

Before she had a chance to give alarm, he assured her that no one else could see or hear him.

Ingrid noted that he was still in his battle-worn clothes and he seemed paler than usual. “Are you alright to do this? I don’t believe you’ve rested.”

He nodded, “Neither have you.” He then produced a battered tome; the one she’d sent him in search of hours before. He opened it to one of the many pages with a corner that had been turned down as a place marker. A light trickle of dust floated from the brittle pages, caught in the moonlight streaming through the windows of the healing chamber.

Ingrid read the page quickly out of the corner of her eye, keeping her head turned toward the body in front of her. She read it twice more, carefully, before asking, “Do you know what you need to do?”

“Yes.” He shut the volume and magicked it away. Shifting to stand directly behind her, he placed his hands over Ingrid’s, their arms flush against each other all the way up to her shoulders.

Ignoring the feelings that came with their closeness, Ingrid began the spell. A spell they both knew had little chance of success and large chance of both of them sustaining serious injury in the process. Combining Loki’s magic with her own, Ingrid guided their power past her hands and into their patient, letting it fill every cell, joining the patient’s own magic. This was the most tedious part of the process, and it took nearly an hour of complete concentration to ensure that not a molecule had been missed—for the whole spell would be rendered useless if one had. Nearing exhaustion now, Ingrid took a deep breath, preparing for the final piece of the enchantment.

“Ready?” she asked Loki.

“Ready.”

 In an aching outpour of power, Ingrid activated the magic that now filled the patient. In doing so, she and Loki had essentially enacted the same spell countless times over within each molecule of the injured prisoner, healing them wholly—body and spirit—in an instant. Ingrid felt her heart stop momentarily as the light of three beings’ combined magic filled the chamber, brightening it more than the sun ever could. Ingrid closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught. 

—

 Loki had been standing behind Ingrid for what felt like ages, trying not to concentrate on the painful feeling of his own magic being siphoned off through Ingrid’s spell. The drain highlighted his already aching body. The battle before, while relatively brief, had ended with a blast that knocked even Thor onto his back for a good half hour. Loki had been a bit closer to the prisoner and was rendered fully unconscious for a time while the dust settled. He’d woken to Sif roughly shaking his shoulder and telling him to get up. He’d gotten to his feet amid the rubble of the ruined town, and there hadn’t been a moment of rest since.

First, they’d located and bound the prisoner and returned to Asgard, where the All-Father had nearly blown their heads off in his rage. Loki had hoped to sleep off his aches and pains, but Odin had dragged them all along to the healing chambers and then to the throne room to retell their tale half a dozen times over. During the third rendition, Loki had reached out to Ingrid only to see that she’d been left alone with a responsibility which should have belonged to the healers as a whole. Finally dismissed to their own chambers, Loki had instead snuck down to the library to find and learn Ingrid’s last-ditch spell. 

Now he stood just a bit too close to her, breathing in her sweet scent—a mix of herbs and spices, he thought—while she used him like a battery to fuel an impossible spell. He’d nearly asked his mother about the spell, the origin of which predated even Odin’s time on the throne. But he thought better of it—if there was something about this prisoner that robbed his father of his typical controlled demeanor, then Loki couldn’t take any chances that he’d discover their plan.

Just as Loki was beginning to muse that the prisoner might not actually be better off dead, Ingrid stiffened slightly and asked if he was ready for the final step.

No, he thought.

“Ready,” he answered, steeling himself for the final moments of the spell. Before he had the chance to berate himself on the obvious stupidity of their plan, there was a wrenching pain from somewhere in his core which knocked all the air out of his lungs. The room filled with light as the unconscious body glowed with the combined magic. He felt Ingrid collapse suddenly in his arms, and he barely caught her as he fell to his own knees while his head swam with dizziness. He carefully lowered her to the floor, hoping no one had noticed an invisible force stopping her fall a foot above the stone. He took a number of steadying breaths before sneaking away, being sure to keep up his glamor. He loathed to leave Ingrid lying on the floor, but this had been part of the plan. There was a clamor as the other healers in the room recovered from the light flash and rushed to Ingrid’s side; Loki lurched out of their paths, making his way unsteadily toward the door. Just as he left, the healing master had emerged from her chamber and was grilling the guard about what had happened while the latter approached the prisoner with caution. Loki saw—with some pleasure—that the prisoner was beginning to stir.

—

Ingrid woke up to a very not-pleased expression on Runa’s face. She sat up slowly, noting that every single part of her body was now tired. The recollection of her actions came back to her suddenly and she pulled herself up to see if there was any change to the patient’s demeanor.

Feeling the slight thrill of a surprising accomplishment, she whispered, “It worked?” 

Clearly annoyed, her master said, “ _What_ worked? Ingrid, what have you done?” 

Ingrid, becoming aware of a mild chaos around her—all eyes on the room trained on her, the guards holding their spears level at the dais where, she noted, the patient now lay with eyes open and breathing with ease. “Look,” she said to Runa gesturing to the dais. Giving Runa time to register what she was seeing, Ingrid continued, “You did tell me to heal them.”

Runa responded with a look of displeasure and motioned toward one of the empty daises against the wall. “Go lie down before you collapse again.”

Ingrid happily fell against the stone, noting that—if nothing else—she had successfully healed the patient tonight. Her last thought before drifting into desperately-needed slumber was of Loki and if he’d made it back to his chambers alright. 

—

“Loki,” a voice said, waking him up. Too loud, he thought. Stop talking. The voice called his name again, louder and this time accompanied by a dreadful pounding. Loki opened his eyes, momentarily confused by the sight of his bed looming above him until he realized that he had fallen asleep on the floor. Collapsed on the floor, he corrected himself, remembering now. He’d been lucky to have made it back to his room at all.

The hammering continued, leading to Loki’s deduction that only Thor could possibly be that obnoxious.

“One second.” Loki called. He glanced down and instinctively tried to magic his clothing away and replace it with a fresh set, but even reaching for his gifts made his head swim. Resigning himself to changing the old-fashioned way, Loki stripped and quickly dashed some cold water onto his skin to clear away the day’s dirt and sweat. He wondered belatedly if Ingrid was okay.

Later, he walked in step with Thor down the halls to meet their father at the prisoner’s bedside.

“Are you alright, brother?” Thor asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“You seem paler than usual.”

“Just tired.” Loki answered shortly, hoping to put off further questioning.

“Maybe you should have that healer friend of yours take a look at you just to be safe.”

“Who are you talking about?” Loki asked, keeping his voice light and curious. 

“Don’t be coy, brother. I’m not the only one who’s noticed your sudden affinity for the library.”

“I’ve always been fond of the library."

Thor made a sound at that, suggesting he thought otherwise. And, well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. Loki’d been spending an inordinate amount of time amongst the stacks, hoping to catch Ingrid there—with moderate success. They’d fallen into an easy pattern of sitting and reading in near silence, occasionally pointing out interesting things from their own volumes. Loki found that Ingrid was particularly fascinated by some of the old wives’ tales from other realms. Loki assured her that they really weren’t all that exciting, but conceded that—to someone who’d never stepped foot off Asgard—the idea of a new, foreign place might be quite intriguing indeed. And he’d made a habit of seeking new tales for her.

For him, she’d often point out new tricks of magic which they’d occasionally try out together. Loki had been pleasantly surprised to find that his new companion was notably adept at a range of skills—though healing was most certainly her strong suit. Loki had even gone so far as to show her some of his preferred glamours. Just the other day, she’d managed to make a study table appear as a whinnying horse. The library attendant had respectfully asked them to relocate after that, and they’d left with poorly concealed snickers.

Entering the healing chambers now, Loki surreptitiously cast his glance around for a sight of her, but instead he found Odin and Frigga standing over the now fully conscious prisoner surrounded by guards at the ready. The master healer stood beside his parents, smiling slightly as if she’d had anything to do with the miraculous recovery. There was no sign on Ingrid, though Loki did notice a new curtain which had been erected around a nearby dais.

Once the princes arrived, Odin began his questions, interrogating the prisoner about his recent whereabouts and why they’d destroyed the village. The prisoner simply laughed and said, “You should have just let me die, All-Father.”

“You shall answer for your crimes in due time, Cronon.”

Suddenly it all made sense. Loki remembered a story he’d heard years ago while sitting incognito in a bar in the lower city. Cronon had been head of the palace guard eons ago—before Thor had even drawn his first breath. They’d staged a coup, which had quickly been squashed. And Cronon had been the only member of the opposition to escape. For years, rumors suggested that they’d hid in the wilds of Asgard, but after years of no sightings, everyone assumed they’d fled the nine realms altogether. Now Loki realized that Cronon must have used magic to conceal themselves as they abandoned Asgard for another realm. What Loki couldn’t surmise was why Cronon had reveled themselves after so many years hidden. The interrogation continued, but they spoke not another word.

Eventually, Odin grew frustrated and ordered Cronon to be thrown into the highest security cell, an air of disgust coloring his words. Odin turned to leave, signaling for him and Thor to follow. Loki discreetly doubled himself and let the copy walk on with his family while he stayed behind, invisible. He quietly snuck behind the new curtain; as suspected, Ingrid lay there, sleeping calmly. He laid a hand gently against her cheek, planning to wake her up and make sure she was alright.

Then his mother whispered into the ear of his double, “Loki, I don’t know what you’re up to, but you had better join us in truth. Besides, your doppelgänger is already fading.”

Loki silently cursed the drain on his magic and hurried to catch up with the others. His quick smiled earning a reproving glance from his mother as he seamlessly replaced his double.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like the tone of this one is a bit different from the first chapter (less fluff, more action?), but I plan to do more character/relationship building in the next installment. Thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> Also a huge thanks to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented on the first chapter!!


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